Caw of the raven
by TheWarSausage
Summary: Enter, stranger! Come in, don’t be timid, my friend. Come closer! Closer, I say! Ahh, that is better. You have to know young friend, as the years pass by, my eyes are failing and the Lady Twilight has governed this house for centuries. ML


Disclaimer:

If Dark Angel would have belonged to me we would currently enjoying the fourth season. Oh and this accident, that some call season two would never have seen the light of the day.

Author's Note:

Hi there, boys and girls. Here is as good a place as any to start. Hence...

a) First and foremost: If you haven't guessed already I will tell you now. I'm not a native speaker therefore anything, that you read, is a pretty rough translation of the original text. Sadly the story has lost much of its linguistic elegance and smoothness in the process. Of course you have to concede me that it possessed such a thing in the first place. I think it did (does?) but then again I'm not the most unbiased party in the world on this subject. Anyway I'm in dire need of an English-speaking beta. It would be ideal, if (s)he could also speak some German but I'll take what I can get. By the way the original version will also be posted on this site and probably always be the first to be updated.

b) Concerning the rating: For now a hard pg-13, it will change to a hard R in later chapters. I'm not kidding here folks, these tale will play in the world of high military, high politics and high stakes. To quote Asha: 'These people play rough.' No guts, no glory. If you have a problem with violence, swearing, perhaps eventually some smut (not sure on that yet) or darkness, go away now! I'm a fanatical fan of George R.R. Martin's 'A Song of Ice and Fire', those of you who have read him know what _that _means, the rest – well you'll find out.

c) Concerning the pairing: I'm one of the old guard, meaning M/L is the only way I'll write, however...

d) Concerning romance: This is more a political intrigue, drama, angst fiction, spiced with some action later on. I intend to include some romance but I have to warn you: My romance tends to consist of 90 percent angst and then ...10 percent more angst.

e) Concerning timeline: This fiction starts a few days after AJBAC. Canon for season 1, totally ignoring season 2. Oh yeah, I can hear you groaning: 'Not another rewriter.' Well bear with me, I will try to make it worth your while.

f) If I make it to z) would someone sent me 10000000 bucks in cash and Mrs Whatever-the-name-is-of-the-girl-that-played-Max in a very skimpy bikini?

g) No? ...well a guy has to try

Now, as the author's note is nearly as long as the first chapter I think it's time to get going.

**The caw of the raven**

**Prolog**

Enter, stranger! Come in, don't be timid, my friend. Come closer! Closer, I say! Ahh, that is better. You have to know young friend, as the years pass by, my eyes are failing and the Lady Twilight has governed this house for centuries. Now speak: What brought you to my threshold? Do you seek stories? Tales of imagination and wonder? Truly, these are joyful news. In these day and age few are interested in the silent whispering of vellum, the nearly inaudible murmur of the pages with which my friends spin their magic. Visitors are rare, this halls have become dark and desolate. There are hallways here, where the dust of decades lies undisturbed, where neither sight nor sound of a human being interrupted the slow conversation of my friends for uncounted turns of the moon. Me, I'm the last of the watchers and this house truly is veraciously enormous, some even say infinite...But I start to babble. You must excuse my wandering thoughts young friend. I know you haven't come the whole way to listen to the incoherent ramblings of a foolish, old man. Follow me now, into the entrance hall past the stone gargoyle, that are staring down on the goings of us mere mortals in eternal, bleary-eyed boredom. Up on the gallery under the gaze of centuries-old angels and daemons, made of worm-eaten oak. Through the door beneath the dusty banners, deeper into the bowels of the house of the whispering books. Forward through halls and saloons, stairwells and bowers, chambers and meandering corridor....where do we go you ask? I don't know. Your story will lead us to the right place at the opportune moment. Here lad, you don't go searching for your tale, you wait for it to find you. Because for any child, born to mankind, on any given day there is a story, waiting to be heard, so that it can bring laughter or tears, wisdom or delight to us. Carefully now my friend! Our path seems to lead us downward into the cellars and the darkness. Stay near to me! Don't leave the flare of the lamp. You have to know: Where are dreams dancing in the moonlight, there are also nightmares hunting in the shadows. Ah we are drawing nearer to our destination, I can smell anticipation in the air, thick and aromatic as frankincense. Here it is – the yarn, that was spun by fate, so that we might listen to it today. Harken! Be as quiet as the falling dust and you'll be able to hear the whisper, the voice with which this book tells its tale... a tale of great deeds and greater sorrows, of broken dreams and the spilled blood of innocents. It talks to us of strange men and a strange future, of rising darkness and impending doom, giving report of three men that stand at the crossroads: The first a young falcon, his wings are smashed, yet his mind is soaring. His eyes are seeing deep in the hearts of mankind and the truth that lies beneath. The insanity and darkness, lurking there, have left dark stains on his heart and soul. The second is an murderous, old wolf, a predator scar-covered and though like an old tree root. Hard and cold he is with blood-stained teeth. A dozen daemons are devouring the remnants of his conscience. The third one: an ancient fox, his fur the color of old hoarfrost. Of all three he has taken the deepest drink from the well, that some name wisdom and others madness. This triumvirate is locked in a deadly game of chess against each other and against the Old Man Death. Can you see him, lad? Bowed and gnarled like an graveyard willow and yet timeless. At his feet is a curled up manticore, bloody drivel dropping from its fangs. All they strive to control HER – she that guards the gate to the future. A cherub of darkness, a creature with wings spun of starlight and lithe midnight. Her beauty is breathtaking, yet deadly – not unlike a damascus blade. She is turning point and crossroad, the queen on the chessboard, on which the game is played, the wildcard that all players strive to control. To her the ravens sing in their hymns of the ending of all creatures, living under this sun, of death and rebirth. Do you want to see her? Don't deny it my friend, I recognize the desire in your eyes. Come closer my friend! Open the book, unseal the gate to the realm of wonders and dreads. There you can spread your wings and soar with the angel of darkness – if you dare...

The muted hum of the hydrogen powered engines was nearly completely drowned out by the boom of the wind, whipping past the SUV. The car, racing over the nano-concrete of the highway with over 250 km/h, was an expensive, European make black, unmarked and without any kind of regalia. The automobile bucked slightly as the on-board computer shut down the link to the traffic management system of the Interstate at an seldom used exit and relinquished control to the passenger. Without reducing the speed noticeable the driver continued along the road, that was worse maintained with every turn she took. Many miles later, deep in the solitude of the woods, that still existed even on this autumn afternoon anno Domini 2045 at the north-west coast of Canada, the car left the highway, looping along the Pacific coast, and turned into an overgrown access road, that led deeper into a thickly wooded peninsula. The lane ended at last at an massive, wrought-iron gate, that was embedded in a gray Stonewall. The car stopped on the weed-infested asphalt of the driveway, not far from a similar model, that was parked in the shadow of a mighty douglas fir. A fleeting observer might have easily mistaken the figure, emerging from the interior of the auto, for an teenage girl, not older than twenty years at most. You had to be keen-eyed discover the hard lines, that had been etched into her velvety skin by years of pain and bitterness. However this illusion wouldn't have outlived the first clear look into the woman's eyes, for they were big and dark, bottomless and stone-cold like an empty well shaft in a Midwinter night. At a rapid pace she approached an approximately breast high column, made of a dull gray metal, that was standing in the shadow of the gate. Her ever watchful senses took notice of the motion detectors and infrared cameras as well as the distant hum of the watcher drones. Therefore she wasn't surprised in the least when the AI of the security system uttered the usual warning: "No trespassing! This UN-protectorate is closed to the public. Access restricted to UN-agents with an security clearance of delta 5 or higher. A violation will be punished with a prison sentence up to 10 years and/or a neurological probe stage three. No trespassing! This UN-protectorate..." The coded impulse from the chip, implanted in her palm, effectively silenced the AI. Instead an armor plate backed into the column of the data terminal and revealed a touch screen. After a retina check and the entry of a 12-digit access code, the gate opened under a gentle buzz. However the visitor was not yet satisfied: "AI erase all entries of the presence of any visitors, including me, during the last 12 hours from your memory. Authorization code: Z 2 Lambda 3 9 7 Omicron Eta B K 6 P 8 9 Omega 5. "Only now the slim figure slipped through the opening, that closed behind her with a clearly audible click. Fast steps carried her over the meadow, that had begun its existence as a well-groomed lawn. At the present time the grass and weeds stood waist-high. Moss and twiners had started to reclaim the burnt out husk of what once must have been a vast mansion. The stranger nimbly skipped the granite stairs, weathered by one and a half centuries of sea breeze, and disappeared in the soot-blackened doorway. Ash, pieces of broken glass and smashed bricks under crunched under the soles of her combat boots. In the partially collapsed, charred truss the quite cooing of nesting doves was clearly audible – yet the visitor didn't look up. Her gaze was fixed on the gleam of light coming off the doorway on the far end of the entrance hall. She didn't acknowledge the existence of the gloomy stairwells and suits of rooms ,filled with darkness, with so much as a single gaze. To many memories haunted the shadows like undead ghosts. She quickened her pace until she reached the door and paused before the stairs, leading down to the sea garden. Fleetingly she touched the handle of the KA-BAR knife in her sleeve sheath, checking if it was easy to reach. Soon there would be an ending, one way or another. Perhaps then she would eventually be able to find peace, to lay her demons to rest. Perhaps then the pair of sparkling sapphire eyes would stop to haunt her dreams. Either way, if she survived or not, after all this time there would finally be closure. The sea breeze carried the caw of a raven to her ear. Maybe it was her imagination but she thought she could hear a hint of ... expectation in it. Or was it anticipation? Her smile was grime as she prepared for the last leg of her journey. There at the edge of the cliffs, bathed by the boom of the surf she could see her destination, nearly hidden in the shadowy grove of mighty, old redwood trees: the lieu of pain and memories.


End file.
